Let Your Demons Run
by A Masquerade Massacre
Summary: James was never one to relate to his classmates. Never. They were boring, and predictable, and so easy to manipulate. They were pieces to a game to him, just something to play with. Which is why he doesn't know how to think when he comes across someone exactly like himself. Warnings: Drug abuse, violence, lack of fluff, blood, death, sexual encounters, ect.
1. Sherlock Holmes

Yep, another one. This was going to be a one-shot, but I couldn't get it out that way. So maybe this'll be something to work on. I don't know. Review and tell me what you think! Tell me what you want.

Warnings: drug abuse, murder, violence, stuff of that nature. Not a lot of fluff.

Enjoy!

* * *

Life was boring. So terribly boring, and the most frustrating thing about it was that he seemed to be the only thing that thought that. Looking around at the others, they always seemed occupied with something… Their crushes and their friends, or their month long relationships of which they always claim to be in love during. Boring. That was boring! But they didn't think so. They were all so wrapped up in the emotions, the so-called-rollercoaster. They liked the rise and falls, the happiness, followed by sadness. They liked starting fights, and making friends, and he didn't understand why. In the moment, sure, it captured his attention briefly, but for long term? No. How were there so many people on this retched earth? So many people who were able to float by, day to day, without realizing just how dull life was.  
James settled back into his seat, drumming his fingers over the wood desk as classmates chattered around him. They were all so occupied, but their conversations weren't all that interesting. Discussing plans for the weekend; nothing fun, just stuff like seeing a movie, or going to some party. What was the fun of sitting in a theatre for two hours or whatever…? Just sitting and staring. WHY? And then a party, ah, well he could understand that one to some extent. But these people, they just wanted to drink to the point of blacking out; their only experience of it was looking up the pictures the following morning, only to feel absolutely dreadful whilst looking over the evidence of all the horrible acts that had occurred. Stupid, meaningless, boring. Pathetic. And they all seemed okay with it, and that was what bothered him, raising his gaze, his dark, sunken in eyes glancing about quickly before they landed on the teacher. He was just sitting at his desk, nothing else. Not even looking at his computer, or reading the book he had left flat out on his desk, just… sitting there. He'd thrown them all some stupid, boring packet and had told them all to do text-book work, and James immediately began to wonder how this man had a job at all. What was so important that he couldn't be bothered to stand up and teach? Clearly nothing, as he stared up at the ceiling, contemplating his overly dull life. Unmarried, he assumed judging from the lack of a ring on his finger, and bound to stay that way. He was in his late forties, just a few pounds away from being considered obese, and his hairline quickly receding. Divorced, he then decided, staring at the photo of kids set on his desk. His kids. They must have gotten their mothers genes, because aside from their blue eyes and dark hair, they looked nothing like him. Their facial structures, their smiles… Mother's, definitely. Lucky, them. No picture of a wife though, so he would assume divorced.

The man had never talked about his children before though, so he imagined it would be a touchy subject… Since many of the other teachers happily talked about their boring lives with their boring wives and husbands and their boring, stupid little bastards they claimed to have planned but were probably just the result of a broken condom. Boring. Stupid. But back to the point, this teacher, this man… No wife, not a care in the world for his own appearance it seemed, and not at all too pleased with his current stand with his children. Seemed like a horribly pathetic life, but he seemed to, at the very least, acknowledge it. Unlike the rest of these mentally retarded fucks that he had the misfortune of calling classmates. He was smart enough to realize he had a shitty life, with a shitty job, and James found himself able to respect him. For a short period of time of course, until the appreciation was dashed and his boredom resumed. "What are you staring at Mr. Mcgann? Finish your packet." His voice was thick with a Scottish accent, and for whatever reason he had never been able to appreciate the sound of it. Too throaty, and wavy; he didn't know how to describe it, but it wasn't as smooth as his own Irish lilt. Or an English accent, for the matter – too rough, too ugly. Or at least, his was. It matched his appearance and his life.  
"I'm done, sir." James responded calmly, raising the packet for the man to see and flipping through the pages. He earned a grimace and a grunt before he was left alone, only for another sound to reach his ears. A chuckle. It wasn't coming from one of the nearby conversers, no, this was directed at him. He knew it was. And he turned to find Carl Powers staring him down, with dark brown eyes – though not as dark as his own – and hair, a smirk on his face. He was tolerable at best, but he was stupid, just like the rest of them. The only thing that made him mildly entertaining was how odd he was. He liked to play games, and James loved games. They continued to lock eyes for a few seconds more, holding their stares until one of the boys sitting by Carl punched him and began to tease him for his actions. James simply smirked bitterly and turned away.

But Carl Powers wasn't there anymore. No, he was dead and gone, just as he should be.

Carl Powers was gay, undeniably. James didn't exactly consider himself under that category; he liked to think he was more just curious, open to try everything just to experience it, just to shut up his over-active mind. He wanted to solve every question his mind had to offer, and well, sleeping with a man wasn't all that horrible. Besides, nowadays seventeen was becoming way too late to lose one's virginity, so if he had to lose it with a man, he was totally fine with it. Besides, it wasn't horrid. It was tight, and a bit awkward as they fumbled in the boys locker room. They exchanged comments on how porno-cliché it all was, but the end result was pretty fantastic. Sex was a distraction he found rather pleasing, more pleasing than the puzzles his drunk of a mother offered him via advice from the doctors. And Carl seemed to be fine with being the object of his distractions, as the boy had his own frustrations to get out through sex. He wasn't entirely openly gay with his classmates, it seemed, which was all too predictable to James. But it made for an interesting situation behind closed doors… Up until that fateful day that Carl decided to turn on him.

"That's the faggot that tried groping me in the showers." Carl shouted, pointing down the hall at James who stood innocently at the end, blinking at the finger pointed at him. He didn't know what possessed the boy to go ahead and do this to him, not at first anyways. It clicked after a short few seconds. He remembered their last little meeting, and how they had heard a door open and close. James hadn't cared, but Carl spent ten minutes pacing back and forth, talking about what might happen. Well, he hadn't listed this as one of the possibilities, and James was more than a little thrown off by the change. And was it bad that made him a bit happy? To be caught off his guard? It was amusing, it was a distraction, and it wasn't as predictable as he had expected from his dear Carl.  
Shame that James got into quite a bit of trouble for the false accusations, with friends of Carl's backing up the closeted-homosexual's lie. Apparently one of them had in fact walked in on them, only catching a glance before rushing out… Seems they hadn't seen enough to deduce that it had been purely consensual. Or they had, and simply decided to ignore the obvious fact that their friend was gay. Oh, idiots. All of them – absolute idiots.

That was what made for James' first night, where he felt alive. Truly, and completely alive. There had been a lot of trouble with the school, and his mother, but the end result was a slap on the wrist upon finding there wasn't enough evidence to get James into any more trouble than he already was. But after a few weeks of being suspended from school, he had returned with a plan.  
He snuck into the boy's locker room once more whilst Carl was busy with his idiotic friends, easily slipping into his locker and taking out his usual necessities. His swimming trunks and goggles, as well as the medicinal cream he applied for his poor skin condition. It was shocking just how easy it had been for him to retrieve such a lethal poison, but it was a wonder what a little bit of money and a few displays of how crazy he had the capability of being could do for a person. So with that, he sprinkled death into the boy's cream, being sure to mix it in with a stirrer until it looked like its originally smooth, white state. He capped it and shoved it back into his locker along with everything else he had dug out. And that was when Carl came in, with two of his friends, shuffling down the aisles of lockers until they came across James just standing there, a small smile on his face.  
"The fuck are you doing here?" One of the idiots behind Carl shouted loudly, making James grimace from the sound of his voice. If idiotic had a sound, it would be that. Carl's brows scrunched up, glancing back to his two friends before back to his ex-lover, if that was what they could even call each other. It had just been emotionless sex to cloud their minds, but nothing more. James held no feelings for the man before him, none at all. Though he thought for a moment, that perhaps this wasn't a good idea.

Not because he felt guilty, or regretful, but because he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to deal with police cluttering up this already annoying school with even more idiocy. But then Carl began to laugh. "Probably wants to try and apologize to me, right?" He cackled, making James arch a brow. Was he laughing at him? How could he possibly be laughing at him? Suddenly, the trouble seemed worth the death of Carl Powers.  
"No, actually…" James hummed, offering him a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I was just here to wish you look during practice. Don't stay after too long, I know how you like to have the pool to yourself." There was a hint of threat in his voice, but Carl and his friends didn't seem to catch it, as they scoffed and continued to curse absurdly until James finally turned to leave. But he didn't actually leave, just made sure to stay out of sight, watching from the shadows as Carl went through with practice. He seemed off, constantly cramping up and complaining of numbness. He stopped twice to gather himself up until practice ended. But as always, he stayed, and once he was sure Carl was alone, James emerged.

"Hello." James smiled an all too sweet smile as he approached the male, who was preparing himself to dive in once more. Immediately the boy froze and shot up, turning paper-white at the sight of James.

"J-James…" He stuttered softly, his voice suddenly seeming so weak. Which then led him to realize that he wasn't different like he had originally assumed. No, he was as pathetic as the rest of them, boring, weak little things. Disgusting. "James… I've been trying to get you alone, but…" He swallowed hard, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He began to shake his head, stepping away from the edge of the pool. James caught sight of him stumbling a bit only to just barely catch himself and attempt to straighten himself out. "James, it wasn't my idea. Scott… He saw us, and… I…"

James began to laugh, "You weren't strong enough to open your mouth and say something?" He smiled, "Weakling, figures you'd be just as stupid as the rest of them." His voice was deep, dark, deadly, a void he was sure his Carl hadn't hear before. James was always the quiet one, the one with a soft voice and little to say. But he was done keeping quiet now, and this shut the other up, turning his face red with embarrassment or maybe anger. He couldn't be bothered to try and figure it out, because he didn't care. "I didn't think of you as anyone, for the record… I was bored, and you were frustrated with being gay. You were just a hole, and now you're boring. Boring like the rest of them." James was off in his own little world his voice lowering to just above a whisper as he grimly stared down at the tiled floor of the indoor pool, as he slowly stepped closer and closer to his first victim. "Why? Why are you so boring? Why is EVERYONE so boring? Carl, just… Answer that for me would you?" Jame's voice suddenly rose, and he could practically smell the fear radiating off his dear Carl as he began shaking, and it excited James to no end.  
"I-… I don't know, I di-didn't… _Why_… what's wrong with you? What's… Why are you being like this?" That was the stupidest thing he had asked, and it only made James feel disgusting for having ever put his dick inside of him. Oh, he really should raise his standards.  
"Stop talking. You give me a headache now… I didn't realize it before, but you're just as stupid, just as boring. I thought you would entertain me, but you don't…" He sighed dramatically, looking to the other. "How are you feeling?" He asked suddenly, his once dark face now alight with a smile, as Carl stood there; seemingly unaware of how close he had stepped back towards the pool's edge. He could see his muscles straining, see them trying to figure out what was happening to his body.  
"_What_?" Carl breathed, clearing his throat. He didn't feel good.  
"Well, I just mean, you should be really feeling it by now." James raised his arm, checking the watch strapped to his wrist, "I'd say you haven't gotten long before your body just gives out entirely." He offered a sickeningly sweet smile as Carl took one more step back before James was able to watch his legs give in, sending him tumbling backward into the water with a loud splash and a yell. There was a struggle at first, the boy using what mobility he had left to kick and writhe until slowly he lost all ability to move. And that was when James got to see his first death, had a taste of the first kill. He watched through the layer of water as the light left Carl's pathetic brown eyes, watched as his body floated around unmoving… He stood there watching for twenty minutes before he finally looked away, only to find himself staring at a pair of shoes off to the side. Carl's beloved sneakers. He then returned home with them, as a memento of the glorious night.

The cops were of course there the next day, muddling the area with their stupidity. They remained there for a couple of days, questioning students. They even questioned him, and it really surprised him they wouldn't immediately consider him a suspect seeing as how the circumstances beforehand would have led most to believe that to be the case. But no, they didn't even spare him a second glance, and oddly enough, that angered him. A small part of him wanted to be caught; he wanted to be praised for this genius, for his strength. He wanted people to look at him and fear him and be confused and shocked and scared. But no one thought to question him twice. No one thought it was sweet, quiet James Mcgann. And even more so, no one questioned the missing shoes. No one thought it was odd that there were no shoes in the locker and no shoes in the pool. No one. Not a single cop or detective or anyone, because they were all so bloody stupid. No one, except for one person.

He had dark, unruly hair with high cheek bones and pale eyes. He looked almost like a ghost, a sight to cringe at, at first, until he was able to take a second look and realize he was actually quite beautiful. His structure was so well carved out, and his eyes… as freakishly light as they were, were absolutely astonishing. Especially the way they flickered this way and that, taking in anything and everything, examining everything… He didn't need to look at him very long to know he was different, and the fact he was questioning the shoes? Well, that was a red flag right there. And it angered him that no one listened to him, that no one gave him a second glance either. He continued to shout about the shoes, about how they must mean something, they must connect in some way, but the cops just shrugged him off. No one listened to him. No one.  
"What are you talking about? The shoes?" James was morbidly curious as to what theory this seemingly deranged boy had, who seemed absolutely furious at how the cops refused to listen to him. He could understand the frustration, staring at this boy with his dark eyes, that for once were sparkling with slight entertainment at the appearance of this stranger.  
"Carl Power's shoes! Where are there? They weren't on the body! They weren't in the locker, or in the pool, or anywhere in sight! Doesn't anybody find this odd?" No one did, apparently, no one except for this boy. James found it hard not to smile, as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

"So what if his shoes are missing, they're just shoes…" James hummed with mock-boredom, of which the boy didn't seem to quite catch as he waved him off furiously and began to walk off.  
"Oh, you're an idiot!" He called out, "Just like all the cops. It means something! He was murdered! He didn't drown." James had never once been called an idiot in all his life, so he was a bit taken back by the comment, but even more so to the fact that he had figured it out. Everyone assumed Carl Powers had drowned… But not him. He was different.

He didn't go to this school, and no one knew his name. They just called him 'that-crazy-kid-thinking-the-shoes-meant-something'. But none of them knew how right that boy had been, no one. Carl Powers was dead, and James was left off the hook… But his mind was wrapped around that boy. Who was he? How did he know? How did he see what no one else saw? He was smart, though he was hoping that wasn't just James becoming desperate to find someone as intelligent as himself. It could just be his mind reaching out, trying to grasp to whatever person seemed good enough, good enough to distract him… But James could see something in that boy. Something different. Something exciting.  
But it wasn't helping his already overly active mind. He found himself in the bathroom just a few days later, two in the morning with not a wink of sleep. He was staring into his reflection, his eyes dark and circled by bags. It was what happened when you didn't sleep, he supposed. He ran a hand down his face, beginning to walk in circles about the tiny, dirty bathroom, his mind racing with thoughts of pale eyes and curly dark hair. Was it possible for someone else to be like him? He wasn't sure whether he should be threatened or not, that someone might be just like him, someone stepping into his turf. But then again, did he really have any turf? He hardly spoke, just made silent judgments on people based on how they held themselves. Which was poorly, nine out of ten times. He did all his classwork, aced all his tests, but never really did much else. Just sat there day to day, going through the motions of his boring life, coming home to his mother passed out in the living room, to a dirty flat crawling with disease and bugs. Horrid.  
So perhaps this was what he needed, someone like… that boy. Someone who understood what it was like? _You're getting ahead of yourself_ his mind whispered, _it may have just been a lucky guess? He could just be plain and simple, and you're just desperate._ James grimaced, "I thought that already." He barked back under his breath, as he sat himself on the edge of the tub, dropping his head into his hands. His forehead was sticky with cold sweat. _He looked deranged, not intelligent. You're looking into him too much. You're desperate. _"Desperate, desperate, desperate." James repeated aloud, "I'm not _desperate,_ I'm BORED." He growled out as he quickly stood up and stretched out his arms, groaning. "Bloody Carl Powers. He ruined _everything_; I was okay with keeping quiet, keeping to myself, silently hating everything. Now I'm not. Now I'm ruined. My mind is ruined. Everything is ruined. I'm so bored. I can't stop thinking. I can't sleep, or eat, or rest. I can't stop moving. I can't!" He found himself pacing back and forth until a loud knock was heard from outside the door.  
"_James_?" His mother's voice sounded tired, yet angered. "James! Who are you talking to? What are you doing?" She continued to knock, as though that would make her son listen. James just stared for a few moments, wondering what would happen if he just stood there and waited. It seemed momentarily entertaining, but even that couldn't occupy him very long.  
"I can't sleep." James answered softly, his eyes never once flickering away from the center of the door, staring blankly, tiredly.  
"James, come out here." She grumbled, "You have sleeping pills!" He snorted at the reminder.  
"They don't work." He argued, "None of it works. Just leave me alone, I need to think." He turned, grasping the handle to the shower and turning it on, the sound of running water filling the bathroom, just enough to drown out his mother's insistent banging.

It continued like this for weeks. He would go days without sleep before inevitably passing out, only to wake just hours later to repeat the same process. His mother had taken him to a new doctor, prescribing him stronger pills. They didn't work that well either, just made him feel depressed, and a bit drowsy. But he still never slept. Just usually sat in bed and stared at the wall across from him, just waiting for something, _anything_ to happen. The days until his graduation were fast approaching, and he was somewhat eager to get it done and over with. High school was boring, and at least with the welcoming of college he could find himself somewhere new. Somewhere that hopefully had more to offer. Thanks to his scholarships money wasn't too big of an issue, and he really was opened to limitless possibilities. A decent school in London, that would be nice. Somewhere in the bustling city, a place that was always moving always had something going on. That would be nice. Somewhere constantly distracting.

And that was exactly what he did. He left his life behind, never once looking back to his mother or his ex-classmates. It was nice in the beginning, settling into the campus of Kings College, where he chose to major in Psychology. He found it amusing in a bitter kind of way, and a bit ironic, but apparently it was a thing that those who were already fucked up found themselves absolutely in love with Psychology classes. But the classes grew boring after a couple of days, because he knew it all. The lectures weren't as fun; the textbooks ran out of information, and things had once again lost their shine. Seems moving somewhere else hadn't done much for him in the least, the high it gave him had only lasted a few short days before he was left anxious writhing in bed all night, trying to ease his mind. His roommate, of course, was fed up with him. A moronic bloke, who wasn't nearly as smart as he claimed to be. His rich daddy had probably bought him a place in the school, and it was no shock to James when the guy took off after a couple of days of listening to him talk to himself in the middle of the night. Apparently he got scared off. "Coward." He huffed in the silence of his room, as he lay along the bed, surrounded by opened textbooks and papers covered in writing. Nothing more to do. Why was there nothing more to do?  
And it was during his first few weeks of college that he found something magical, something no simple shag or a puzzle could compete with. It wasn't marijuana or booze, but instead something so much more soothing, so much more beautiful. It was a copper colored liquid that swished about in a tiny bottle, this way and that, as it was displayed before him. And the process itself was quite distracting, and entertaining, and it kept him calm. The routine of it all, it relaxed him. Unwrapping the syringe, tying up his arm, tapping the inside of his elbow and eying his beautiful, big, blue vein. It bulged out, begging to be abused, and his mind urged him on. Do it, do it, do it. And so he did, he stabbed into himself, feeling warmth push through him, shooting through his veins and easing him back against the bathroom wall of the sleazy club. It filled him with fire and ice, and sent him sliding down to the floor in bliss as he sat there in amazement. His mind was quiet. For the first time, for as long as he could remember, his mind was quiet, and he could breathe. He did just that, inhaling loudly and slowly closing his eyes before exhaling. Everything felt so beautiful.

That boy wasn't forgotten though, oh no. He was still there, in the back of his mind, clouded by the abuse of drugs and liquor, but still there. He didn't know a name, but he knew those eyes, and that unruly hair, and the image of his face remained there. The sound of his voice, chanting about the shoes. Oh, yes, the shoes. He still had them, carried them in his luggage and kept them there. Sometimes he would take them out when he was bored, and would just smile at them. Sometimes he would even talk to them, talk to them as if they were Carl himself. It kept him distracted every now and again. It was nice. But not as nice as the rush of a high. Nothing at that point in his life was more distracting than getting his fix, and sometimes, he even found the withdrawal that followed to be semi-entertaining. If only because the pain of it blurred his mind.  
The drug also made people more tolerable. He woke up in the beds of strangers on more than one occasion, with women, with men, and sometimes both. He had exciting nights, and it didn't even cause his grades to slip. Never failed an exam, never failed to turn a paper in on time. James finally thought his life had turned around, he thought maybe he had found the answers to all his problems, a tiny bit of copper-colored substance, shot directly into his veins. A beautiful liquid that filled him with fire. He was doing great in school, he had a social life, and his mind wasn't getting the best of him. If he wasn't high, he was withdrawing, and either way he was at peace with his mind, either welcomed with comfortable waves of relaxation, or the gnawing need for more of that beautiful drug. Either way, he was distracted, either way, he should be happy. And he remained that way for some time…

And it should have stayed that way forever. Some idiotic sod had gave him a bad batch, which ultimately ruined his night after going two days without a fix. It ruined him entirely. Sent him spiraling into hysterics in the bathroom he had first started this whole thing in, screaming and shouting at a girl who had been clinging to him for the past few months. She considered herself his girlfriend, he simply considered her a willing hole. She was scared now, though. She didn't know James as his roommate had, she didn't know the James that Carl knew towards the end of his life. She knew high James, quiet James, happy James, distracted James. This James was not right, not okay, he was off, and it was obvious. "James, calm down, you have to relax. You have to sit down. Please sit down." She kept telling him to sit down, but he didn't _want_ to sit down! What would that fix? What could that possibly fix? _Waste of space. She's a waste of space. Everyone is a waste of space._ The voices were back with a vengeance, fueling his drugged rage as he continued to circle the bathroom, the finicky little blonde girl having holed herself up in the corner. "James, you just need to relax. It'll get better once you relax." She shuddered, turning white as James froze and looked at her, face cold, eyes dead-looking.  
"Will. You. Shut. UP!" He was tired of her voice, tired of her everything. He knew how easy it would be, to just kill her. To just press his thumbs against her windpipe and watch the light leave her eyes. Immediately he was reminded of the night Carl died, and he remembered how good he had felt. He had almost forgotten amidst the haze of drugs, just how wonderfully happy he had felt that night. He could feel it again, and it would be so easy. She was so weak. "You pathetic little whore, you've been nothing to me. _Nothing_." James hissed softly, as he began to approach her. Tears began to stain her cheeks as she shook her head.  
"How could you say that?" James scoffed at the idiotic question.  
"Oh don't be so cliché you bitch, you're a drug addicted whore and you've been nothing but a hole." Just like Carl, he had just been a hole. He died too. She would die, she was going to die. James was going to kill her, and everything was going to be okay, because something about bringing a person to the end of their lives made him feel better, made him feel okay. But she wasn't going to die tonight, oh no, the loud pounding on the door made sure of that.  
"Can you two please end whatever little party you're having in there and get out? Some of us actually need to use the toilets." A voice called, making James twitch with agitation. The girl of course stole the chance and ran past him, yanking the door opened and running out, crying, and screaming. James rolled his eyes and turned, landing a fist into the hard, marbled walls.  
"_Fuck._" He hissed, feeling the bones in his hands cry out in pain as he pulled away from the wall, turning at the sound of a stall closing. Whoever had been knocking at the door had gotten his wish, it seemed. "Couldn't wait five minutes?" James grumbled beneath his breath, not really meant to be heard as he turned to clean his hand in the dirty sink.  
"Oh, I'm _so_ sorry." The stranger's voice was dripping with sarcasm, "Didn't think you'd mind, having someone break up that fight you were having. Or well, it wasn't really a fight, was it? Just you screaming your bloody head off at some poor girl." There was a snort, and James felt his blood boiling in irritation.  
"You don't know anything, so I'd think it's safe to say you should back off." James was in no mood tonight to play with strangers, or play nice, at the very least. He felt prepared to tear someone to shreds.  
"Get a bad batch?" The voice mocked, "Shame." The sound of a flush followed the word, James taking this time to turn as the stall door flew open.

Pale eyes locked with his dark orbs, and James felt his stomach begin to twist. Emotions, they were petty little things he very little paid attention to, but this nagging sensation was undeniable as he stared down the boy he hadn't been able to stop thinking about since the day little Carl died. They were glassy and faded, his pupils blown wide open, alerting Jim to the fact he wasn't the only one who had gotten himself trapped in the swirl of drug abuse once having reached college.  
He didn't look like the drugs type though, not at all. Unlike James who was dressed in a black tank top and a pair of ratty old jeans with worn down sneakers, the boy before him was dressed impeccably. A black dress shirt buttoned up to the two last buttons, with black dress pants and black Oxford shoes. He looked like a fancy, rich boy, and James wasn't sure if he liked him much because of it. But those eyes, that hair. It was undeniable. This was him. It had to be him.  
"You're him… The shoes guy…" James drawled, swallowing hard as he leaned back against the sinks. "You're that boy…" He felt like a zombie now, no longer fueled by adrenaline and drugs, but calmed by the familiar face, and absolutely worn out by the discovery itself and unable to keep himself from flashing a near-crazed smile. "The one that was there… about Carl Powers…"

The boy cocked a brow, blinking a few times, as though needing a second to register what had been said. "Ah, you're that bloke…" The other hummed, seemingly uninterested as he passed James to get to the sink. James noticed the sudden agitated look upon the other's face, as though recalling the day and still being displeased with the fact no one had listened to him. He could understand that.  
"James…" He hummed in response, figuring a name was needed.  
"I don't care." _Oh_. Nice guy, he was, huh? James continued to smile that smile as he turned to face the man, folding his skinny arms over his chest and tilting his head to the side.  
"You should. I was the only one that heard you out after all." James reminded with a snort, "Shoes, shoes, shoes. You ever find those stupid shoes?" He felt sickeningly amused by this, a good change in his night, because he had his shoes back home, in a box, beneath his bed. It made his smile grow.  
"No, no one did." The boy grumbled, "Idiots. All of them. It was clear it was murder, but they chose to just pick and choose facts, because it's easier for them to just write it off as some drowning victim. Idiots." James could see the cogs turning in his head, how fast he was thinking, he was talking fast too. He was on another drug, a drug that made him think _more_. He was like James, just like him, he could see it in his eyes and it was fabulous. But it seemed the other didn't mind the natural rush his mind provided, didn't mind the thoughts racing through his head. He seemed to enjoy it, in fact… And James found himself slightly envious.

"How did you deduce it was murder?" James asked out of morbid curiosity, leaning against the wall beside the other as the man scrubbed his hands clean, like he had just been digging through mud and was trying to scrape off every last bit of dirt. They were being scrubbed raw. "The police said there was no sign of him being held under, seemed he just fell in and had a seizure, couldn't get out, and drowned." He smiled a bit.  
"It's obvious." The guy hissed, looking to him like he was a moron before turning back to his hands, "He was the only one in the pool the only one. No one was around? Why was he there? Alone? There was no past conditions of seizures. He had a skin condition, apparently, but he never just froze up. His coach issued a statement claiming he was off the whole day, but what caused it? Just suddenly his body wanted to stop working? No, someone did that to him, I know someone did that to him. And they wanted a trophy… Whoever murdered him took his shoes, and I think not only was it a trophy, but he wanted someone to notice. He wanted to be found. He wanted to be praised." Oh, he _was_ good. James' smile grew.  
"How did you know it was a 'he'? A girl couldn't kill him? A bit sexist." James teased, chuckling. The other didn't seem as amused.  
"Reasonable. The boy was gay, after all, so perhaps a disgruntled girl he shot down killed him, but it's unlikely. More likely someone he actually had slept with. It was clear his peers didn't approve, no one in that school really seemed opened to the idea of homosexuality except for the few in the closet… But they wouldn't dare express such feelings in front of their friends. It could be a friend, who found out, disgusted enough to act on it… But no, the way he died, it must have been a poison, he wasn't held down. Someone sinister, someone smart. Not some idiotic homophobe, no, this boy was smart. And it was a boy, I know it was, has to be. Someone he slept with, more likely, or another homosexual whom he betrayed even." He was thinking now, bringing up old memories, and it was clear in his eyes, and James had never been more excited. This boy was smart. He knew things, no one knew things, but he did!

"What's your name?" James finally asked, but the other was off in his own little world, ignoring the question as he stepped away from the sink and began to pace, looking frantic as he continued to spout out theories,  
"Oh, this killer _was_ smart. He felt betrayed, probably because he liked the guy, more likely because Carl turned on him. Carl hadn't wanted to be found out about his homosexuality, probably picked on the poor sod in front of his friends. He picked on the wrong guy though, didn't he?" He laughed, "Oh, oh, this Carl was an idiot; he turned on the wrong person… This person knew how to get his hands on things, at such a young age… Oh…" He continued to chuckle, not paying any mind to James as he went on pacing and talking, "But a poison, it must be a poison, but how? They didn't find any, but then again, they probably hadn't been looking for it. Something undetectable then, but something dangerous. The poison wasn't what killed him though, no, no, it paralyzed him. He fell into the water and couldn't get out because the drug kept him from doing so. The coach said he was freezing up all night and had difficulty… Carl stayed after to practice some more, and…" His eyes were alight with new information, and it was the most beautiful thing James had ever seen. Someone _actually thinking. _ It was brilliant! "The killer returned to take the shoes, after he had died. He has the shoes. Still has them, I'm sure, he wouldn't just throw something like that out, oh, _no_." He finally acknowledged James' presence, smirking.  
"And you think you're right? You're not a cop, how come some kid can get all this but a professional just labels it as an accident? You think you're that smart?" James tilted his head to the side, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. This was fun, the most fun he had had in a while.  
"Oh, don't be boring," He hissed, "Cops are idiots, all of them are. They just wanted to call it an accident so they could go home early. No one wanted to deal with a murder investigation; they were lazy and stupid and chose not to look into it. "

"That's it then, huh? Carl was murdered?" James smiled, "Some disgruntled lover killed him? Seems cheesy," He chuckled softly, running a hand through his short, dark hair as he spoke, shaking his head. "Carl was a bit of a bully though, an idiotic one. I'm not surprised someone put him out of his misery. His friends had been assholes to him," James recalled with a roll of his eyes, "How did you know he was gay, though?" James dared ask, arching a brow.  
"Never had a girlfriend, from what I've heard. Often hung around men. Then of course the cops talked to the parents and they of course mentioned finding gay pornography in his room after his death. Then the cops started to consider it a suicide…" A roll of his eyes, "They can't just think, can they?" James smiled at that question, nodding his head.  
"No, they can't." Then he was fully acknowledged again, and their eyes met. Slowly, the other boys face softened and a look of amusement touched his eyes.  
"Oh, I see," He said, chuckling, "You knew it too, didn't you? Just asking me these questions to see if I could think… You can think, can't you? Not now, you're too high. You don't like to think," He was looked over, "You hate thinking, it ruins you. Don't sleep, so you take drugs to help you." He was amused, "A bit pathetic, don't you think?" James wasn't a fan of the words the other chose to use, and narrowed his eyes, his smile dropping immediately.  
"I am not pathetic." He stated dangerously.  
"Oh, and mood swings," The man laughed, "Unstable, drug abuser, but terribly intelligent. Probably had a therapist and a psychiatrist at some point, yeah? Stop your medication but they weren't working well enough? Ah, but what's your diagnosis then?" He stepped towards James, looking him over again, "Tricky, tricky…" This was all a game to him, and it was alluring to James even if the other was digging him opened in the most uncomfortable fashion.

"For your own well-being, I suggest you not try and analyze me." James warned, eyes narrowed, but there was a hint of amusement at the edge of it all, and the other read into that.  
"Oh, that's not true. You want to be found out, I can see it in your eyes. You're _bored_." The other stopped short, just a foot away from James, "Sherlock Holmes." He nodded, "Be seeing you." He turned on his heel and left James standing there, biting on his bottom lip in contemplation as he stared after him.  
"_Sherlock Holmes_…" He breathed, smirking, "What an ugly name."

* * *

Please tell me what you think! Review and follow and all that fun stuff, tell me what you want to see!


	2. Swallow

Really wasn't sure how I wanted to continue this story, and I'm not sure how it came out.

Please give me more responses so I can get some kind of idea what people want. And some ideas of how to continue in general.

Help me, to help you!

Please enjoy. x3

* * *

A teaching job wasn't something he expected to happen upon. Teaching youth never interested him, to be honest, but it was something to do. After graduating from college, he came to a loss for what to do next. He had quit the drugs a couple of weeks after meeting that Sherlock fellow, the mind altering substances just ceased to cure his boredom any further after meeting that man. The withdrawals were somewhat of a distraction, but over time that faded as well, and he was left with… Nothing. He never ran into him again, though he tried. He managed to locate his parent's home; a mansion, of course. He wasn't shocked to find how big it was, but even so, the bloke didn't stay there. Was never there. He would visit every day of the week sometimes and just wait to see if he would go in or out, but never was there. He saw his brother though – a tall, skinny fellow, like his brother. But he wasn't anywhere near as interesting, too bland, too simple. Nothing interesting. Sherlock seemed to have disappeared and after a while James began to wonder if he overdosed in some ditch and his genius was now gone and once again, he was alone in this world. Alone with the normal people.

It didn't help that he was teaching kids now, they were worse than normal people. Always asking such stupid questions, always begging for extra points. The girls were the worst though, always coming after class, trying to pass by with a flash of their tits. James was not interested in such childish games, and often failed those who attempted such things on purpose, whether or not their grades were previously decent.  
"Professor McGann, is there any way I can take this test again?" Brandy was a tiny little thing, seemingly innocent but he saw through the façade. She was a weekend-partier, and judging from the constant redness beneath her nose, she was a coke addict. She had wide brown eyes with long brunette curls to match. She looked so smooth, so pretty. James smirked.  
"I gave you a week's notice to study. Your poor performance is your own doing." He hummed, obviously bored as he glanced back down to the pathetic paper he was grading. This was all growing so dull, and the idiocy of his students was getting on his nerves.

"I need this grade… Please." She was not unique in her attempts – hundreds tried this game with him for the past two years of his teaching career. "This is the last chance I'll get to get good grades before college… If I don't get all A's this semester I won't be able to get into my top school." James rolled his eyes to himself and just shook his head.  
"You're not special. Giving you, and only you, the chance to retake this test would imply so." James was marking red all over the paper beneath him, mostly to just entertain himself at this point. Red was such a pretty color. So vibrant.  
"But I know I can get a better grade. I wasn't myself that day! I was tired, and si-"  
"You were hung over." James corrected, raising his gaze and locking eyes with the idiot little girl. She looked so scared. So hurt. James just looked empty. Cold.

"I…" She started, chuckling nervously and shaking her head, "I wasn't."  
"You were." James said. She cleared her throat uncomfortably, shifting her weight around between both her feet, back and forth, rocking. Boring. "At least admit to it, your stories aren't amusing."  
"I mean, I'm a teenager, we all drink. So… I suppose I wa-"  
"It wasn't from drinking." James sang with a chuckle, lowering his gaze back to his paper and flipping to the next page. She was paled now, frozen and seemingly not even breathing.

"Please don't tell my mother." She pleaded pathetically. "She can't know. She can't. Please." Annoying.  
"Leave me alone." James urged, running a hand through his short black hair, closing his eyes as irritation set in.

She was moving now, he could hear her though he refused to open his eyes and look. For a moment he figured she was leaving, but she was instead rounding his desk, shifting closer. She smelled like cotton candy, and he began to drift off into his own mind, wondering why these girls insisted on smelling of candy and other delicious treats. Just made him hungry, not horny.  
"Please… James…" That was when his eyes opened up, and he turned to look at the girl who was suddenly very close to him.  
"Excuse me, but I really don't believe that's what you should be calling me." His voice was dangerous, angered even. This girl thought she was so high and mighty that she could say his _name_, speaking to him as though they were equals. Almost made him want to laugh.  
"But…" She was undoing the buttons to her shirt slowly, pushing it back, and revealing the black lace bra she wore beneath. Shedding the skin of innocence to reveal her true side, he supposed.

"Please just let me, okay? You don't even have to pass me… just… don't… Tell my mother…" Her shirt was on the floor and to be honest, James was more interested by the fallen fabric than the half-naked girl standing before him. "Professor McGann…" She corrected herself from earlier, turning the man in his chair and straddling his left leg. James quirked a brow, sighing.  
"Oh? I thought this was about grades still." James snorted, shaking his head. "I suggest you leave, or you'll regret it." She froze in her actions, her brown eyes staring into his endless black ones. She was scared, and he could smell it, but he had to admit, he was impressed she refused to leave, as she simply shifted against his lap and moved around to unhook her bra. Persistent thing, she was.  
"Please…" She breathed, shaking with nervousness now and a bit of fear as well.

Her shaking fingers moved to his shirt, which she then began to slowly undo. Her eyes now focused on her actions, seemingly scared to look back to James' face. "You're a drug addicted whore." He spoke, matter-of-factly, even voice, calm. She began to shake more in response. "Admit it to me. Say it." He urged dangerously. "Say. It."  
"I'm… a drug addicted whore." She breathed out, sniffing, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.  
"Get on your knees." She froze for a moment, before nodding and slowly slipping to the floor, in between his legs, on her knees. It was a lovely sight, he had to be honest. Bowing to him. Begging him for a chance. He felt powerful – he always felt powerful.

She undid his pants, pulling them down before finally looking up to him, as though asking for a chance to get away. He only smirked down at her, cocking a brow as he waited for her to continue. She quickly got the point and moved to pull down her teacher's boxers next, revealing the man's flaccid member, large and waiting. James just continued to watch, a smirk on his face as she slowly moved in to take him into her mouth. She wasn't so calm now – she was horrified with herself, and that was how James' liked it. Fear always made things so much more fun, he had to admit. Watching as the girl skillfully brought his member to life, making it hard for him not to groan every now and again as she set a rhythm and began to bob her head. Up and down, up and down. Stroking with her hand what her mouth couldn't quite reach. Licking, sucking, moaning.

But the point of this display wasn't to get off, it was to show this little girl how positively pathetic she was. Sucking teachers off so they wouldn't tell their parents they were little drug addicted whores? Oh god, she was now scarred for life and he knew it, and that was all he needed to really think about to get off. Shoving her head down at the last second, choking her on his erection as he filled her mouth with his release. Groaning, tensing, before ultimately falling back against his seat. She pulled away once given the chance – but before she could spit, he shot forward and stopped her. "Swallow it." He commanded, making her face pale once more. He looked dangerous, so very dangerous. Unwillingly, she swallowed before she began to cough and gag. James just chuckled. "Don't come back."

Whether she did or not wasn't for him to say. After that day he resigned. Not out of guilt, but because of the realization that he could do so much more. Teaching pathetic little vermin about the world wasn't something worthy of him. He deserved so much better.

xx

He moved to central London, and with the money he made from teaching he was able to get a decent flat. It wasn't as extravagant as he would have liked, but he managed to make it look decent. A book shelf here and some paintings over there. But unfortunately, without a job, he wasn't able to spend too much money. Then of course, came the issue as to how he would get more. Money was important, and there was no way he was going to lower himself to teaching once more. Though if there was anything that job taught him, was that people were pathetic human beings, just looking for a chance to get on their knees and suck. All of them. No one was different. No one.

Needless to say, it was easy to find people who would give him money… The rich people he grew up envying were now on their knees for him, just as he had hoped and dreamed. They were begging for their lives, for his forgiveness, throwing their money at him, their power. Fear conquered all, and James McGann was the king of fear.  
Through this tactic he was able to become rather rich rather fast. He became CEO of some computer manufacturing company, and there seemed to be quite a bit of money in that business… and he was at the top of it all. It was the best kind of drug, the best kind of high, to have all that money coming in. To have all that power. He could send people out on the streets where they would live in boxes if he truly wanted, and he had. He'd stolen power right out of people's hands, sent them tumbling down into bankruptcy. After a while, he realized he owned it all…

Corruption was a powerful thing… In just a year it gave him so many beautiful things. A brand new flat, with several rooms, all dedicated to different things he enjoyed. Oh, and his bedroom was a masterpiece all on its own, with flowing colors of crimson and lavish furniture. Antique paintings and sculptures in every corner and on every wall. Finally his surroundings matched his inner person… But somehow, he was still… _bored_.

"James… I haven't seen you since you were seventeen." Growing up, his mother insisted on therapy. He'd been bounced around between doctors ever since he was eight years old. Daisy had been his favorite, because she didn't talk much. She let him do all the talking, and only commented every now and again. Though after the mishap with Carl Powers, he had never gone back to his sessions. He would leave the house and tell his mother he was going, but instead he would go to the park and smoke cigarettes until the night time came.  
"I've been busy." James hummed as he stepped further into the office, taking a moment to glance around, "I figured you would have moved on from this by now." She was aging obviously now, laugh lines around her mouth and crowfeet by her light green eyes. Her once blonde hair was now white, balled up into a messy bun atop her head. Eight years had not treated her well, but he supposed the fact her job consisted of listening to people bitch about their horrible lives was a lot to do with it.  
"Well, it's a job, James." She smiled warmly, "I think about you every now and again though, you never came back…" She reminded with a smirk, watching as her ex-patient approached one of the paintings hanging on her overly white walls.

"I never liked this office; you'd think as a therapist you would make this place more warm and comfortable." James grimaced, running his fingers over the picture frame, only to pick up dust. Disgusting.  
"You've grown up quite a bit; you look like you're doing well." He was dressed in one of his recent favorites – A full Westwood suit. He fixed his tie before turning to face the elder, offering a tight smile. "But I'm somewhat confused as to why you're visiting. I was shocked to hear you set up an appointment with me… You know, it doesn't really work like that. But it seems you've… Acquired a bit of power. You always said you wanted that. "James nodded his head, wetting his lips.

"An employee suggested I needed therapy." And after James proceeded to publically humiliate the bloke before taking him into his office and threatening to murder his wife, he had actually begun to consider the option.  
"Where do you work now, James? I thought you moved to London."  
"I did." He answered simply.  
"You… Came all the way out to Dublin for a therapy session with me? Oh, you've definitely gotten yourself where you wanted to be." She chuckled, "I'm glad for that. Why don't you sit down?" James glanced behind himself at the seat, and then shook his head. She said nothing about it as she leaned back in her own chair and folded her hands over her lap. "So, why did this employee claim you needed therapy? Seems a bit mean. You appear to be doing much better now. Though I am curious if you ever continued taking your medication or not… I know you had trouble with it in the past."

James shook his head, "Stopped it a long time ago, didn't see a point for it." She hummed in disagreement, making James quirk a brow. "I've been kept busy. That's all I really need. I've long since quit smoking, and aside from the occasional drink I'm not much one for abusing any substances." She nodded her head, but still didn't seem entirely impressed with his ways.  
"Substances aren't entirely what I'm worried about, though I'm glad to hear you're avoiding it. Especially glad to hear you've quit smoking… I suppose work is doing good things for you. But work can be considered an addiction as well, you know." She smiled, shrugging her shoulders as James rolled his eyes. "You were one to get obsessed with things easily. Once something managed to grasp your attention you had a hard time of moving on from it until it bored you. And then you'd be so let down." She had a point, but James didn't think this was the same thing. "But you look good. You're a man now. With a job, and money… You seem to be where you want to be. So… How are you?"

How was he? That was… A complicated question. He thought he was good… He had a job, with money and power. He should be good. Why was he so bored? _Because you're crazy_. Was he really crazy? It had come up in the past, enough doctors had told him that that he was beginning to question if it was true. _It's true. You're crazy. So crazy. _No, he was just smart, unique. He was genius, not crazy. _Same thing._ "James?" Daisy smiled, though her eyes showed worry and confusion. Such weak emotions. So weak. _Crazy_.

"I've been fine," He smiled one of his charming smiles, "Graduated, taught for a couple of years… Moved to the city and got a job at some computer manufacturing company. I call the shots… It's nice." He nodded his head.  
"You don't seem that content," Daisy insisted, folding her arms over her chest, "Are you bored with it?" Oh god, this woman knew far too much for her own good.  
"Possibly." He admitted, looking away as he finally moved to take a seat across from the other, "I'm finally powerful, and I'm still not content." He sighed, letting his head fall to the side, "I've gotten to be so high…" _So crazy. _  
"Well, perhaps the field you're in is why. You've never mentioned interest in computers before, though I know you're more than capable of handling such things." She chuckled.

"That's the thing, I'm more than capable of handling… _Everything_. Nothing is a challenge." He shook his head, "It was so easy to get to where I am… Hardly took any effort, any time."  
"So you're not as distracted as you had said." She smiled, leaning forward, "And what about your sleeping? Has that gotten any better since we last spoke? And your headaches?" James frowned, shrugging his shoulders.  
"I sleep." Sometimes. When there was nothing else to do… Or when his body just couldn't hold itself up anymore.  
"What does that mean? You sleep every night? No trouble at all?" She looked skeptical. "I doubt those bags beneath your eyes are from work, since you just claimed it was so very easy." This woman was good. James chuckled, and nodded his head.  
"I sleep when I feel like it." He shrugged.  
"Because you can't, right?" He rolled his eyes, leaning back into his seat as she did the same. "There's nothing wrong with sleeping medication, James. People are bound to go a bit crazy without sleep, you're probably driving yourself mad, that's why you're so on edge about your progress in life." Sleep? That was really the solution to everything? He doubted it.

"Do you steal hear things, James? I know we never touched on that much when you were younger… Your mom would always mention it to me, though." James immediately rolled his eyes and scoffed.

"I don't hear voices," _Yes you do. You're mad._ They weren't voices, they were his thoughts. He talked to himself. Everyone did. They were thoughts. _Just thoughts. "_Aside from boredom, I'm just fine."  
"So why are you here? Just because an employee suggested it? Doesn't seem like you." He supposed she had a point, so why was he here?  
"I met someone, when I was younger," James smirked, "I had done something awful, very awful. He knew exactly what had been done, even though everyone else didn't see it."  
"What awful thing had you done, James?" She tilted her head to the side, and it made James smirk.  
"I pulled a very mean joke on an old friend of mine. The police got involved," He rolled his eyes  
"Old friend? Which one? Since you never talk much of 'friends' back in the day." They both chuckled together and James nodded his head.  
"Carl Powers."

That's when Daisy went still. She stared back at her patient, blinking. "The young boy who drowned?" She asked. "What had you done to him, James?" She knew the answer already, he could see it in her eyes. She was staring at him, waiting, but she knew. That's why he couldn't help but smile, because she knew. "James…" She breathed, "What had you done to Carl Powers?"  
"Nothing." James shrugged his shoulders, "He laughed at me. And so I stopped his laughing." Daisy's face paled immediately.

That was when James stood up, dusting off his jacket as he looked about the room. "Well," He smiled, "I better be off."  
"James, wait." She quickly stood up, "Please stay, please talk to me." She urged, placing a hand on his shoulder, "You were talking about the bloke you met, not Carl Powers." She seemed nervous suddenly, and it made James smile more, as he pushed her hand away from his shoulder.  
"He was just someone like me," He shrugged his shoulders, "He's probably dead too." The smile he gave her was chilling, or so he imagined judging from the horrified look on her face.

"James… You need help." She urged, "You need to begin seeing someone again, this isn't healthy… You're not healthy." He wasn't healthy? He pursed his lips, brows rising.  
"No, I'm fairly healthy." He chuckled, shaking his head.

"Mentally!" She shook her head, "Mentally you are not well, and you need to get help." And it was at that moment he began to remember about his first real rush. It wasn't from the drugs, not even from Sherlock Holmes. He had been from watching the light leave Carl Power's eyes. He had watched him die, and he remembered the butterflies in his stomach, how happy he had been.  
Now that he thought about it, Daisy was nothing special at all. A person, one whom he spoke to about his life when there was nothing better to do. But she wasn't needed anymore. She had given him her last helpful bit of advice, and she was pointless now. Absolutely pointless.  
"I thought you were helpful, once… But you're just like everyone else." Screaming about how he was mad. _You're crazy_. He wasn't crazy, he was smart. He was unique. He wasn't crazy. _You're mad._ "I'm not mad." He said quietly to himself, shaking his head. "I'm perfectly healthy," He said louder, smiling at Daisy as he reached into the back of his pants pocket, pulling out a tiny bottle. On a rainy day he had been messing around inside of his pill cabinet, coming to find poison was fairly easy to make with home-made-items. He held it out for Daisy. "Here." He smiled, "Take this." He urged, watching as confusion washed over her, confusion and concern. Still so week. She took the pill bottle into hand and shook her head.  
"James, what is this?" She asked, watching as James once against reached around into the back of his pants. This time, he was holding a gun.  
"Just take it. Because to be honest, I really don't want to get my hands dirty. I'm sure it'll be too much of a mess." He had never used the gun before. He bought it more to just entertain himself, but now he was beginning to realize its usefulness aside from just safety.  
He watched as she began to unscrew the bottle, tears beginning to form, fall, her cheeks red, her hands shaking. She put in her mouth and shook her head, "James… Please, let's just talk about this." She mumbled around the pill. James seemed to consider it for a moment before just laughing and nudging the woman's gut with his gun.

"Swallow."

And once again, another person was on their knees in front of him. And he realized how he would be keeping himself happy in this world.

Bringing people to their knees, dead or alive… That's all that really mattered.

* * *

Review!

Thanks for reading!


	3. Nightmares of a White Room

First off I'd like to apologize for the many, many mistakes you're bound to find. This was written whilst I couldn't sleep. I'll get to fixing it soon, I promise. x/3

But anyways, enjoy!

* * *

He wasn't sure how his mother had met the strange man, she never explained it entirely to him. He had to come to their home one day, sat down in the family room for some tea. He looked disgusted by his surroundings, constantly swiping things with his index finger and thumb, eyeing the dirt that he would collect on his skin. He was balding, with white tuffs of hair peeking out just above his ears and the lower back of his head and nowhere else. He had dark eyes, much like James, which was a red-flag right there. "Jimmy, please go back to your room," His mother would urge every time she caught her son peeking outside his bedroom to get a better look at their guest.

His father had just left a month ago; he wasn't told why. He didn't really care though – he had never really been around much, either at work or fucking a whore. His mother always denied the last bit, but even James had been able to tell at the young age of ten that his father was seeing other people. He always smelled of booze and odd perfumes that his mother would never dare touch. She never said anything to him though; she mixed her orange juice with vodka and went on with her day, like it was normal. James was just a silent watcher in all of it, but this time he felt real concern opposed to just curiosity. This odd guest had alarms going off in his head, though he'd admit to not really getting any good information out of his attempts of eaves dropping. He was a doctor, which didn't come as a shock to him. He had that kind of appearance to him. Clean, strict, scary. James always hated doctors, and hospitals. Avoided them at all costs. Something about tiny white rooms and men in white coats standing over him made his heart jump just from thinking about it.

He pressed his ear to his bedroom door, closing his eyes as concentrated on the voices just outside.  
"I don't mean to be rude, but I honestly don't think you could afford my services." The man's voice was thick with an accent he would assume to be Russian. He could hear the cups clinking against the plates and the table as the tea was set back down and picked up again. His mother had lowered his voice and all he could hear was inaudible whispers. His name was mentioned, but that was all he could pull from her usually absurdly loud voice. She was quiet, and that's how he knew something was truly wrong. He wet his lips, pressing them together in anticipation as he slowly, and as quietly as possible, pushed is door open just a sliver and glanced out the room at the pair. When in doubt, attempt to lip read he figured.

"He's not right." His mother hummed, shaking her head, "I'm afraid that a normal practice wouldn't be able to help him like you would. Simple medications don't seem to be doing anything." Were they talking about him? It was true his mother ushered him to many doctors, she didn't like the way he was for whatever reason. They were always throwing weird medicines at him; stuff to calm his mind, to put him to sleep, sedate him. They numbed him, his mind, made it hard to think and react and move. He didn't like them, often flushed them down the toilet when he got the chance. Whenever he caught him he would be dragged to another doctor to receive something else, and more of it. She had never brought a doctor to her home before. "Doctor, please just give me a price. His father will help with the costs if I ask him too… I'm capable of getting money, so please don't think I'm not." She looked upset, her dark brown hair pushed up into a messy bun atop her head, blue eyes wide, manic-looking, desperately searching the doctor's face. She used to be pretty but over the past few years she was aging horribly. Suddenly he was thankful he had gotten most of his father's genes, as the man never once looked horrible no matter the situation.  
"It's a risky procedure, but has shown amazing changes in other patients. But nothing is guaranteed, and I can't promise it'll help him." The doctor shook his head, "But from what you're telling me, it might help his case just a bit. It's a wonder what a little shock can do to help a brain like your son's."  
James' face scrunched up with displeasure at the word 'shock'. What shock. What were they on about? He slowly stepped back from the door, closing it with him as he turned to sit on to his bed, staring at his walls as he tried to solve the puzzle. What was wrong with his head? Since when was being intelligent a bad thing? Was it because he didn't have many friends? Because he didn't care for his father or mother? He didn't really understand why something was supposedly wrong with him, because nothing really seemed wrong to him. His head seemed just fine. He wasn't anxious or anything, or even depressed. Not sleeping sometimes made him feel sick, but it could be worse. _They think you're crazy._ Crazy? Was he crazy? No. How could a ten year old be crazy? Far too young to be mad, he figured, and far too young to be discussing such procedures as shocking someone! He had heard about it before, but he didn't think it actually existed.

_They're trying to hurt you._ He didn't understand why they'd want to do that. He stood up again and moved back to the door, taking a moment to listen only to be welcomed by silence. It was quiet. Were they still out there? He grimaced a bit and moved to push open the door, only to find the tall, mysterious doctor standing there, looking down at him with his white brows raised, wrinkling his forehead. "Hello, James." The man offered a smile that only made him cringe in response. Some people should just not smile – his teeth were yellowing and he could practically smell the grime.  
"My name is Doctor Volkov… Your mother was just telling about your sleeping problems." Slowly the man brought himself to his height. He was really tall, he realized at that moment, as he moaned and groaned to bend down to James' height. "She wanted me to see if I could help at all… Tell me about yourself, Jimmy." Ugh. That name. Sounded so childish. He glared at the stranger and offered him a scoff.

"James." He corrected immediately. The doctor blinked, but nodded his head in understanding.  
"James." He repeated, "What do you like to do? I mean, what do you want to be when you grow up?" James glanced over the doctor's bald head and to his mother who was standing just a couple of feet away, nervously looking between her son and the man she had brought into her home. She offered James a small smile, brows pinched together as she waved him on to answer. Vile woman.

"I don't know yet, sir." He answered monotonously, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pyjama pants, eyes narrowing. "Perhaps a firefighter." He said, a sarcastic undertone that made the doctor smirk.  
"Very smart for your age, I see." The doctor slowly extended himself back up to his full height, nodding his head to his mother. "You can bring him by my office tomorrow afternoon if you wish. I have some paperwork I would like you to get through regarding your son, and then I'll see what we can do." The man offered a disgusting smile to which his mother returned with one of her own. James watched in disgust, rage slowly building up in his chest, in his head. _They think you're mad. I'm not mad. I'm not crazy. I haven't done anything. We haven't done anything. Nothing. We're good. You're good. I'm good._ "I'm good…"

It wasn't an office; it was a pathetic little flat with a dingy basement. It didn't look clean, though it smelled sterile and made his eyes water just a bit as he was guided down the stairs. It was empty of people aside from himself and his mother. The doctor had gone off around the corner, and James could hear the clinking of metal along with the odd tune he was whistling lightly. Paper work was left on top of one of the empty seats left out for them, "C'mon, sweetheart." His mother pulled him over to one of the chairs, moving him to sit down before she sat beside him after lifting the paperwork from her seat. She set it into her lap, pen in hand as she looked it over.  
"Why am I here?" James asked quietly just a few moments later, "This doesn't seem safe. Or right." His mother smiled at him, brushing hair from his eyes.  
"He was highly recommended to me, don't worry Jimmy." She placed a hand on his cheek, reminding him that occasionally she was capable of being rather nice, and… even slightly comforting. He found himself leaning into the hand, closing his eyes and wishing it was like this all the time. _It's never like this. She's a fake. A fake. A liar and a fake. _Opening his eyes, his mother's hand fell and she looked back down to the papers in her lap. A liar and a fake, he silently agreed with himself before looking around the room. White. Empty. Uncomfortable.

Moments later he was guided around the corner, welcomed to a more familiar type of room. There was two beds, a metal one, and a semi-comfortable looking one. There were machines, and IV stands. It actually looked like a room for a patient, he supposed, but it also just looked like a shady place to be. Doctor Volkov was cleaning his hands in a nearby sink, drying them before turning to his mother and holding out his hand for the paperwork. It was a form of consent which his mother had thoughtlessly signed. _Signing you away, into the hands of a madman. _James caught the smile of the doctor's as he reviewed the paperwork before setting it down off to the side. "Very well." He spoke, nodding his head. "James, you can take a seat on the bed to the left for a moment while you're mother and I speak outside. I'll be right back, just get comfortable." James swallowed, ashamed to feel fear in the depths of his chest as he shuffled towards the more comfortable looking bed and plopped down, watching as his mother disappeared out of the room, closing the metal door behind them. Then there was a click. A lock. He was locked in here. His mother truly had signed him away to a madman.

He couldn't hear any talking, didn't bother to get up once to check the door because he knew for a fact there would be no point. It was locked. It wasn't until twenty minutes after he was left alone that the doctor returned with his mother, in a white jacket and gloves that made him shiver slightly. "Alright, James." The doctor hummed, shutting the door and once again locking it before he moved over to a metal stand sat between the two beds. "Would you mind taking a seat in the other bed now? " He asked almost curiously, like waiting to see if he would say yes or no. James narrowed his eyes, looking over the metal bed before shaking his head,  
"What for?" He practically growled out, slowly shifting off the bed to stand up and face the odd doctor. "What is going on?" He asked, clenching his fists.  
"James, I'm afraid you really have no say here, and you must sit in the metal bed. There's an easy way to this which is you listening and then there's a hard way, which you really don't want to learn about." James stared at the doctor; _He's going to hurt you._ He had a feeling using the word 'hurt' was a drastic understatement. He glanced to the door, then back to the doctor. "It's locked." The man confirmed what he already knew with a sigh, "Please, let's just make this easy." He gestured to the metal bed, straps and all, connected to odd machinery that made James' heart accelerate just a bit.  
"What happens if I don't?"  
"Oh your mother was right, you certainly are stubborn and far too smart for your age." And that was a bad thing? Since when? Being smart was supposed to be a good thing, something mother's should be proud of, not chalk up to some type of mental disorder cured by electric shocks. "If you don't sit yourself down willingly, I have a friend waiting outside to help me should I need him. He's not as nice as I am, and you'll come out of this with a lot more damage than need be. Now please, Mr. Mcgann, sit down." James looked between the doctor and the door. He knew where he stood in this – he was helpless and that was probably what bothered him the most. How cornered he was. Stuck. With no way of getting out. Slowly he walked around the doctor and pushed himself up on to the metal table, glancing around at it. It was somewhat comfortable, actually. There were areas of soft, plastic cushioning which he laid his back against, his hands laid out beside the nearest straps and his legs just long enough for his feet to dangle by the other straps below. He turned his head backwards, able to see what would surely be placed atop of his head. It was a weird looking contraption, something he would have thought to see in an old-school type of asylum. "Curious?" The doctor asked, making James almost ashamed. While slightly scared, he was incapable of finding all of this so fascinating. The doctor took this time of James' distraction to quickly strap down his left arm and leg, making him immediately snap to attention. "Oh calm down, it's far too late now for you to begin freaking out." He had a point, sadly. James swallowed hard as the right side of him was pinned down with leather straps, watching as the doctor moved to pick up another stray piece of thick leather. "I'm going to need you to bite down on this? Otherwise during the procedure you might bite down on your tongue and rip through it." Oh, that sounded pleasant. "Open up." The doctor urged, making James' stomach do flips as slowly he parted his lips and accepted the piece of leather into his mouth, resting his tongue underneath of it while biting down, the taste making his nose wrinkle in disgust.

"Alright, James." The doctor said, moving behind the chair, "This is going to go on to your head, the electric shocks will rush through these areas here." He showed it to him briefly, gesturing to the two cotton areas, resembling cheap earmuffs. They were placed on to his temples, the pressure shockingly intense, and tight. He closed his eyes, taking a moment to breathe.  
"Why is my mother allowing you to do this?" James mumbled around the leather quietly, listening as the doctor sighed.  
"There's nothing to be afraid of James, this is actually a very help procedure. Regardless it's not seen ethical all the time, in this case it might make you feel a lot better."  
"I feel fine." James groaned out in argument opening his eyes quickly to stare up at the doctor.  
"Well, from what your mother tells me, and what I've learned from just talking with you, you show signs of having sociopathic tendencies." The doctor was circling his trapped form. "I thought at first you were a full blown sociopath, but no… Not now, not yet perhaps. You're shaking, you're scared." He smiled, "You're also angry. But at the same time you're curious, you want to know how this contraption works, no? It's written all over your face." He nodded his head, "You don't care for your mother though, and most young children like yourself would be torn by the absence of a father. They'd also put up a lot more of a fuss about something like this. You just walked yourself into it without a struggle." He shook his head, "Well, we should get to it, then." James just stared at the ceiling, too busy thinking about what the doctor had said to care about what was about to happen. He was angry and scared. More angry than scared. Anger was a common feeling, normally… Was that not normal? Closing his eyes, he sucked in a breath, only to have it catch in his throat as his body jolted up shortly after the sound of a loud click filled the room. Immediately he began to whine and scream against the leather in his mouth, writhing within his restrains. His eyes snapped open and all he really saw was white. The white walls, floor and ceiling melded together before his eyes; all white. His body felt white, was that weird? White, hot electricity coursing through him, filling him. He couldn't think. Was he even breathing?

It felt like hours later that the machine shut off and he fell limp against the bed, breathing heavily with saliva dripping out of the corner of his mouth. His cheeks felt wet, though he didn't quite understand why. He could hardly keep his eyes open, the room blurring around him, spinning. He felt ill. He wanted to puke but he knew getting up wasn't an option, so he swallowed it, half scared he'd choke on it if he couldn't hold it back. His eyes found the clock, finding it odd that it had hardly changed at all. Just a bit over a minute, which couldn't be right. No, no, it couldn't have just been a minute. Unless it had been earlier than he had thought, or later, or… His eyes were opening and closing, finding it hard to keep them open. He couldn't think. Why couldn't he think? And why the bloody hell were his cheeks so sticky? Sticky and wet. The leather was pulled from his mouth by a gloved hand, his labored breathing continued as his tongue darted out to collect the saliva at the corner of his lips.  
"What are you on about?" He heard a voice ask. The doctor. The doctor? His eyes flickered open and shut, turning just a bit to get a better look at… Yes, the doctor. Doctor… What was his name? Volcom, volk… voke…  
"What?" James muttered out tiredly. He wasn't on about anything, he was quiet. Too tired to be anything else. But then he felt his lips moving, and heard the words. What was he saying? Why was he speaking? "Why can't I think?" He was asking, over and over and over in a soft voice hardly heard by anyone, not even himself. "I need to think. I can't think." Over and over. The doctor was at the metal stand beside him again, picking up… What was that? James narrowed his eyes, urging his blurred vision to focus.

"This will help you sleep…" What? Sleep? He didn't want to sleep! He wanted to… He wanted… What did he want? His eyes were closed before he knew it, opening up to the feeling of a pinching in the bend of his arm. A needle. What was it? What was he given? He was trying to ask, parting his lips, moving them, but he didn't hear anything come out. Didn't know if he was even speaking. The room continue to spin rapidly before eventually turning entirely black. Wasn't long before he couldn't feel a thing. Couldn't think a thing, or move, or do anything. He felt himself falling rapidly into the depths of the darkness that had shrouded over him, feeling it tangling about his body, suffocating him. He was dying. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Dying.

With a jolt, he woke. Sweating, breathing, wide eyed as he stared down his bedroom. Empty. No one was around. He was alone within his comfortable bed with the TV off and the door closed and probably locked. He was alone, and he was alive. He swiped a hand over his forehead to wipe off the sweat as he moved to get out of bed. Shuffling over to the door, (Yep, it was locked) he turned the lock and moved outside and downstairs to where the kitchen was located. Perhaps he shouldn't have offed his therapist, or at the very least, find a new one. He hated the idea of it, but his nightmares as of late were only getting worse… And ever since that day, the day he saw her die… He hadn't been all that satisfied with just about anything. Work was dull, the people were dull, and his home was dull… Everything was dull. "I should get a pet." He told himself as he put the kettle on, checking the time to be 5:00 AM. Plenty of time to have some tea and get ready slowly and just relax for a short while. To be honest going to work seemed dull as well, and he was contemplating just staying home. He normally never stayed home, so perhaps today might be a good day to do just that. Just a break. But what would he do? Lying he bed watching the TV didn't sound all that pleasing to him and it was far too early to go out and get a drink. "Well, I could get breakfast..." He spoke to himself, sighing as he poured himself a cup of tea, adding a dash of milk and a bit of sugar. "Mess with the waiters…" He hummed, though honestly even that seemed boring. He sat down in the living room, turning on the TV to the news as he sipped at his tea.

"…Colonel Moran was sent home yesterday morning under suspicion…" There was a man on the TV, being walked into a courtroom surrounded by police officers. He was impeccably dressed in his army uniform, dirty blonde hair gelled back out of his light blue eyes, thin lips where a scar began, crossing over the soft flesh and along his cheek up just below his left eye. James imagined that was the only scar he had. Sebastian Moran. He had heard about him briefly the day before from one of his employees, though didn't really find it all that interesting at the time. "…mentally unfit for the army, it is being suggested that he will he attend mandatory therapy sessions…" Poor sap. He rolled his eyes, setting his teacup down on to the coffee table. "… Yet unknown whether or not Colonel Moran will be further charged, and is currently undergoing a psychiatric evaluation to determine…" And it was in that moment James knew what he was doing that day; he was going to find this man. He was powerful enough to pull a few strings and be able to locate him… He seemed like an interesting bloke, or perhaps he was just desperately searching for something to do with his day. He was just hoping he'd be entertaining enough.

"Sebastian Moran…" He smirked, "Better be worth the day off work."

* * *

Oh! And I know I haven't responded to all of you, but I really do appreciate all the reviews. They make my day! So please continue to be so lovely and review more, because they really do make me write more and faster, and you'll get all the updates you want. x3 Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
